


WHAT EMMA KNEW

by Honmyo_Seagull



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Dark Reign (Marvel), Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emma is nosy and regrets it, M/M, Missing Scene, Separation Anxiety, Slice of Life, Telepathy, Utopia (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honmyo_Seagull/pseuds/Honmyo_Seagull
Summary: Emma Frost is stuck with herding cats and the worst one is actually a mongrel. Daken and Bullseye show definite signs of a violent case of separation anxiety. X-23 discovers she has a brother who can slash even more deeply with his tongue than with his claws. Wolverine is fed up with everything and needs a drink… Emma definitively knows too much.
Relationships: Daken Akihiro/Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Daken/Bullseye strongly hinted
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	WHAT EMMA KNEW

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, obviously.  
> During the “Utopia” crossover arc, the moment when Daken belonged to two teams, both Osborn’s, the Dark Avengers and the Dark X-men (who include the black-wearing Emma Frost). Some dialogues are lifted straight from the book (so knowledge of it might help), and then joyously bent. Sorry, but not sorry. Eyes of the beholder and all that.

*******

Emma is not exactly fond of her new teammate on Osborn’s new mutant team. Skimming over the thoughts of people around her is as natural as breathing. She doesn’t exactly invade their minds, but is conscious of their presence or intents through her telepathy on the same level as any of her other senses.

Dealing on a daily basis with Daken feels like being blind and groping her way through. Wandering an obscure corridor with occasional blinding flashes of light. He feels like an emptiness just beside her, with only the merest occasional pinpricks of emotions randomly peeking out.

Logan has told her his son’s mind is a minefield which tricked even Xavier himself… Daken is shallow, dark, still waters on a ground of obsidian-like blackness. Light hardly shimmers on the surface.

And because, as a result, she doesn’t bother trying to look deeper, surface thoughts sometimes catch her unawares, jumping at her, utterly devoid of the reflexive roots she usually perceives, the deeper meanings escaping her completely, their distinct lack of foundation tasting like the tang of half conscious dreams. She doesn’t know really what he feels, what he wants… He is unsubstantial, even standing right next to her. He leaves her wary, she can’t predict him, steer him, control him.

Mostly, she ignores him, sometimes has to reign him in anyway when he pushes things too far on the way to lethal.

And fankly… she has other things to do. She is a double agent in the middle of a war which will define the destiny of mutantkind, and she doesn’t even know whether he actually identifies himself as a mutant, or cares at all about the subject, or simply is a free agent with fluctuant allegiances. She has no time to wonder.

*

* *

Still, nothing had prepared her for the weirdest part of her balancing act. She hadn’t counted on the other team, the dark avengers, _Daken’s_ other team, popping from nowhere, suddenly invading the scene.

“Behave,” she says, turning her back on them. In hindsight, she should have left a lot quicker. Because honestly, when the woman-scorned vibes she suddenly feels from the Hawkeye wannabe hit her, she is floored.

She looks over her shoulder and reaches for the mind of the fraud from sheer surprise. So, he is actually Bullseye, her gift reveals, and his reputation as a psychotic killer is not usurped, the inside of his mind tastes like rotten fruit.

“So… Are you an **Avenger** , an **X-Man** or **what**?” **_Irritation. Pent-up anger. Satisfaction (found you)._**

His spirit like his namesake, zooms in on his target. Which is Daken, apparently.

“I always **did** like playing for both teams. Why is there a **problem** with that?... ” **( _Here you are at last…)_** Who gives as hard as he gets. “ … Let me rephrase that… Do **you** have a problem with that, little man?” **( _You jealous ? Jealous? Jealous? Jealous?)_**

Bullseye smiles, smugly:

“Nothin’ I can’t take care of without breaking a **sweat**.” ( ** _You wish.) Anticipation._**

“I would love – quite literally **love** – to see you try, you ridiculous carny,” Daken snarls. _(Come on, then… Come to me.) Invitation. Seduction._

“Finally some action!” Fake Hawkeye crows. **_Elation._**

And Bullseye launches himself at Daken.

Years of experience and mastery of her gifts, and still, Emma can’t pull back, tear her perceptions away from the encounter, totally sucked in the maelstrom of emotions. Everybody else is, incredibly. It degenerates in a general brawl. The only thing keeping her from joining the fray is the way the intensity of it all roots her on her spot.

Bullseye’s mind _sings_. Emma’s mind staggers a bit under the force of it. His joy supplants a crippling sense of boredom which was slowly edging him into madness (which tastes bad on Emma’s ability). He hates Daken, wants to crush him, hurt him, kill him and again and again and again because the freak will never die and always hit back too, their beautiful little war, little dance, beautiful, beautiful their fight, Daken himself, he can’t look away. Their violence is like coming home. Bullseye’s relief feels like release. The underlying desire is almost lost in the fury, it grates at her, uncomfortably warm in her belly in a totally unwanted psychic ricochet.

She can hardly perceive anything from Daken, hardly a trickle – _come to me come to me come to me_ – but if her telepathy is dulled with him, she can still look and see, and how now she understands, his recklessness on the field, his “psychotic conniption” as she called it to his face. My god, the way they throw themselves at each other, Daken needs it as much as Bullseye does.

“Oh, for the love of…” She hears herself mutter.

“…kill you,” she catches Daken hissing to Fakeye.

And here’s one of the unexpected glimmer from Wolverine’s son opaque psyche stabbing her out of her inaction. He is _lying_. His claws are not aiming for a killing blow. Never. Under the frenzy there is unshakable control. Suddenly it all feels like an elaborate role-play for the benefits of his partner. Manipulative bastard.

They are pulling their respective pigtails, she realizes. A little flaggergasted.

The Black Queen has no time for these games!

“You’re bloody children, the both of you!”

Now she has a whole room to take control of again, and if she is honest with herself, she flies from the scene as soon as she can afterwards.

In her back, “See you round,” she hears Daken quietly say, a far cry from the earlier fury.

“Got that right, punk,” the fake archer answers, calmer, and even though it is growled like a threat, in her mind she hears a promise. **( _You better come back. I’ll be waiting._** ** _Take care.)_**

The kindness of monsters is something she’ll never get used to. Even though she knows it is a little bit hypocritical from someone who’d do monstrous things for love, to get what she wants, protect what’s hers…

*

* *

And obviously it’s when everything is about to come to a head and they are warned something is happening in the cells – her plan is about to come to fruition at last – that the last insight she’ll ever get on Daken happens.

When you’re a telepath, you get used to the dissonance of lies. Hearing people tell things and as clearly think the opposite. Then there are misdirections. These are the worst lies for a telepath. The words actually align between speech and thought but the terms still are susceptible to be understood in a totally different way of what they seem to mean.

The real X-men are here at last. Logan’s team. That’d be the cavalry. Except Daken doesn’t know it. Isn’t aware of Emma’s long game.

“You morons. There are no cameras down here. No media to protect you,” Daken says. Snarls. He is _enraged_.

It feels like a slap in Emma’s face. Daken is suddenly… _loud_ and _clear_ in her mind. She has no time to wonder why. It’s the first time she really hears his inner voice, a cry bouncing in the dark, never to be heard because **no one cares no one cares no one cares**. The intensity is staggering. Raw, outraged, angry, sharp as a knife and cutting behind her eyes.

Logan’s presence puts him in a corner where he has to kill for Osborn, kill people who are like him _because_ they are like him, Mutant. And even though he doesn’t care about any single one of them, it feels a little like killing himself, and even if Daken likes – _loves_ – to kill, he will _not_ enjoy this carnage. And he wants to punish his father for that.

“We’re going to kill you all and no one will ever know,” Logan’s son darkly drawls.

Daken’s loss of all residual respect for his father sounds like broken glass in Emma’s mind. His father who is supposed to be the hero and save the day, and just _stupidly_ took people he cares about to slaughter with his careless and half-cocked plan. And Daken is really going to punish him for that. To think this pathetic excuse is regarded as a hero ? How could someone – **_Romulus_** – ever compare them both and find Daken _lacking_?

Face to face, there’s a strange harmony in the disappointment they both feel in each other…

“I don’t think so. But, boy, I’ll be damned if I didn’t sorta hope you try,” Logan rasps.

The real wolverine’s mind is so familiar that his thoughts ring clear in Emma’s head. **Disgust (Look how low you have fallen, son). Anger. Anguish. Provocation.** ** _(Look at me, look only at_ me _. Fight_ me _so you don’t kill any of the X-men. Fight_ ME _so the other x-men don’t kill you. Fight. FIGHT.)_**

“You die last, old man, after watching all your friends die as slowly and painfully as we can manage, ” Daken strikes back.

“Oh, do shut **up**.” (If she is honest, she is talking as much to Logan as to his son. Their interaction is bordering on painful for who knows what’s in their respective heads. A dialogue of the deaf.)

She takes Junior out of the board mercilessly. Or maybe it _is_ a mercy. This one second, she doesn’t want him to die in the middle of this conflict either. She also feels the tiniest hint of satisfaction that she pulled one on him, that he never saw coming that she was working with his father all along. Well, there’s that.

Later, she perceives a pin sting at the base of her ability, mid-battle, hardly a sparkle, when he regains consciousness. He stays on the ground and chooses not to interfere anymore. He lets them have their plan. She hardly has a second to feel grateful. Middle of a fight, right. Keep going, girl.

*

* *

_Really, Logan, the girl ? You’re sicking the **girl** on me ? _

Utopia is safe, now. The dark avengers tried to take the Island back, but they were pushed back. The mutants won. The mutants are safe, here. Even the medias agree, will let them have this. This safe haven. And Laura still feels restless, wandering around the Island aimlessly.

_Woof woof._

It didn’t really register during the fight. Trash talk is easier to ignore in the heat of the moment. But Laura knows she tends to overthink things. Reflecting on the man in the red Wolverine costume afterwards, it makes her want to put her claws to her skin. One single little noise and he gets to plunge right into her chore uncertainty. Where does she stand with Logan? She knows he loves her. She knows. And his fight is also her fight. She chose. She believes. He is not using her. He is the closest she has to a father… He… Stop. 

_Woof Woof_.

Red Wolverine cut her effortlessly. With his words. With his _claws_. Got to close to avoid hers but used the momentum intentionally to get her good. She saw his wounds closing as fast as hers. His claws aren’t props. There’re bone. Organic. Really part of him. Raw but like hers. He is _like_ her.

He was playing with her, too. Looking for something, looking for Emma, the object of his ire. She heard a “ _Frost_ ” pass his lips, dripping with hate, while he was looking the battlefield above her shoulder, in the middle of _their_ fight, he must have thought she wouldn’t hear. She didn’t loose. She hasn’t won either, though.

Even on the ground, kneeling, bleeding, after Pixie and Armor interfered, he was not looking one bit defeated. Girls Power, indeed. Laura almost snorts. In hindsight she knows, she sees better. She was the only one he cut, he just took the damage from the other girls, not really caring about them. Just. Stalling them. This is an uncomfortable realization. Who _was_ he?

She stops in the middle of a hallway. She hardly feels Emma brushing past her.

“If he bothered you that much, talk to Logan,” the White Queen says over her shoulder.

Laura feels herself frown. She doesn’t like that somebody reached into her head. It’s the only space left which is supposed to be safe and hers.

“I didn’t pry, you’re thinking too loud,” the woman adds, already a few feet farther down the hall.

Laura’s first impulse is to say she’s sorry. Then she decides she doesn’t have to. 

Laura doesn’t see, but Emma smiles, approvingly.

*

* *

Emma takes a seat in front of Logan in the mess. It’s quite nice and quiet at this hour.

“Your son gave me a headache,” she says, without preamble.

Her last memory of looking in Daken before actually meeting him was the surface violence of his hate for his father. Her insight, as little as it is, is more nuanced now. Hate for what his father is, sure. What Logan’s son thinks he only pretends to be. More contempt than hate, then, perhaps. But still.

Emma is a bit afraid.

Heroes never saved this kid. (Nobody ever did.) And he is unable to fully articulate his resulting distaste for the concept, because in order to admit that at one point he might have wanted to be saved, he would have to acknowledge he had been a victim, and she doubts Daken’s monumental pride would allow it. Maybe she reads to much in all this. After all, she can’t confirm it with her telepathy. She is just guessing, and for a telepath, bizarrely, it just feels rude to guess someone’s motivations or intents…

“Humph. Welcome to the club,” her friend says. **_Love. Disappointment. Love. Bitterness. Awe. Memory of beauty (his son’s, Itsu’s). Love. Powerlessness. Inability to understand this person. Love. Want to reach him. Change him even if it hurts him. Make him better. Make him different. Make him his son, not Romulus’. Love. Despair. Don’t want to kill him. Afraid, afraid, afraid he’ll have to._**

And nothing much shows on his face. Emma pities him a little. But it’s bad policy to pity your friends. Especially since she feels a little guilty to think Logan might deserve a bit of his frustration. Because apparently some people _can_ reach Daken, connect with him for who he actually is, however messed up it will be.

Logan grabs his glass. Alcohol, so early in the morning. He, too, is rattled by the encounter with his kid.

“He has an atrocious taste in men,” she remarks out of the blue.

“I don’t want to _know_.”

He really doesn’t, Emma notes. But she feels a bit vindictive, she is the one who had to deal with the scion of Snikt, who had to be perpetually on edge for _days_.

“Bullseye,” she announces anyway.

“Bullseye,” he repeats, bemused. She can’t believe he doesn’t get it.

“Fake Hawkeye is Bullseye,” she elaborates. 

Honest to god, Logan _whines_. **_Yew. Yew. Yew. Anger. (That guy killed Elektra)_. **And deep deep down in a very hidden well of very dark humour: **( _Damn, this guy deserves whatever shit the kid will dish him out and put him through)._** And at the exact same time from another part of his mind. **( _I’ll kill him if he lays his hands on my son. )_**

 _Too late for that, darling_ , Emma ruefully thinks.

“And… I really need another drink.”

Emma gracefully offers to get him one. The depth of Logan’s gratitude perturbs her a little.

Logan’s nose is well into his fourth glass, now. The alcoholic buzz of his mind is kind of soothing to Emma, if a little downcast from his unresolved feelings for his son. Then, Laura appears in her field of vision, just above Logan’s shoulder.

He flinches when X-23 touches him. It’s funny that she can surprise him, how it makes him uncomfortable in spite of his fondness for the girl. It is less funny how her hand retreats as if she had been hit. Her face is carefully blank, but what Emma tries not to feel from her, in consideration of X-23’s earlier wishes, is painful.

“Who is he. The other Wolverine,” Laura asks with her calm, poised, voice. Her curiosity his like a prickle under Emma’s skin.

The White Queen flies. Unashamed. Letting Logan to the not enviable task of explaining Daken. Revenge is a plate best served cold.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> HELP?  
> If anyone knows…  
> In my original document, I have used a smaller police size for what Emma feels from Daken to express how incomplete and muffled her perception of him is.  
> Is there a way to do that on AO3 rich text format?  
> Do I have to rather use html? Any idea how it could be done?  
> Thanks, folks !


End file.
